


Marco the Friendly Ghost

by zury (azurezury)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Character Death, Comedy, Fluff and Angst, Ghost!AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-25
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2017-12-30 10:15:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1017385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azurezury/pseuds/zury
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean’s the resident dork at a local highschool and one particularly bad day, he stumbles across a dead body. </p><p>A dead body whose ghost follows Jean home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> going off of Deb’s (lemonorangelime @ tumblr) ghost!marco doodles and headcanons :3

He should have known that today would suck ass. 

He slept through his alarm clock, forgot his homework, got in a fight with Jaeger (/again/), and earned detention. 

All before noon.  
Thanks to the detention for disturbing the peace, aka smack talking Eren and causing the resulting dodge ball brawl, Jean missed his bus and now trudged through the icy slosh on the way home. Hoping to make one good decision for today and maybe find a little peace, he decided to take a short cut through the friendly neighborhood forest. 

A short cut that ultimately turned into a humiliating episode of Man versus Wild. 

Covered in bird poop and hopelessly lost, Jean counted the score.

Wild: One. 

Jean: Zero.

"Fuck." The air chilled around him as the sun sank down and he tried to remember the old saying to remember which way the sun set. "Was it the east or west? I’m pretty sure it was west, with the cowboys always riding west into the falling sun. Cause Japan’s the land of the rising sun, and Japan’s east." He paused in his thinking. "Right?"

He stumbled over a few roots and the dirt was definitely not soft. He let out a huff and pushed himself up and came face to face with the reason why his day definitely got worst.

Later, Jean would say that he did not scream like a girl. Simply yelled so loudly that his voice cracked.

A body lay before him, sitting neatly against a tree. Jean stumbled over the same roots from before and scurried back into a puddle, his heart thudding wildly in his chest. Dead bodies in themselves were not scary. Jean had viewed many an open casket of dead old relatives and wasn’t bothered. But this dead boy was different. 

He had to have been a guy around his age, sixteen or seventeen. He probably would have been able to give a better estimate had half of his fucking face and torso been there. 

Jean scrambled for his phone and dialed 911.

"What’s your name, location, and emergency?" A woman’s voice asked. 

"Jean, Rolling Hills Park, and I’ve found a body."

————————

"Thanks kid. We’ll call you if we need anything else." The police officer snapped his book together and Jean drew the foil blanket around his body tighter, watching with grim interest as the body was finally removed and packed into a black bag. "You need a ride home?" The officer asked and Jean almost didn’t hear him. 

"N-nah, I’ll be fine." He put on a brave face. The officer shrugged but nodded, leaving with the rest of the crew. Jean watched him disappear before looking back at the disturbed dirt. 

They said that the body was still fresh, maybe less than a week old. Jean gulped. No doubt their town would be rocked by the death. Jean could still see the haunted look in the eye of the unidentifiable male. The cold reminded him that he was still very much alive and he turned, making sure to follow the footsteps of the cleanup crew. 

————————-

When Jean got home, the report of the body was all over the news. He groaned when he saw his disheveled self plastered all over the television and he hastily turned it off so he could concentrate on washing up for dinner. His parents didn’t talk much about the subject, but his little sister pestered the shit out of him, asking him all sorts of inappropriate questions. 

No, he did not touch the body. No, he didn’t look to see if there were maggots in it. And he definitely did not take a selfie with the body (a move that his sister called an amateur mistake and he questioned his parents on the validity of their kinship). 

Jean put the body as far away from his mind as he possibly could as he went upstairs and got ready for bed. He turned on his favorite jams and crawled under the warm covers, silently saying a prayer of thanks that he was still alive. 

And a prayer for the soul of that poor bastard. 

"Amen." Jean muttered with his eyes close. 

"Amen." 

Jean opened his eyes. Where had that second “amen” come from? Shit, maybe he was hearing things. He turned on his side, letting the music soothe him. A song switched midway and Jean’s eyebrows furrowed. 

"Sorry. I was just looking for something better." That was for sure another voice. Trying to be sneaky, Jean slowly reached under his pillow to grab the small Swiss army knife he kept there as protection. Once his his fist was around it, he sat up and pointed out the knife. Cold washed over him as his hand stuck through a wavy white form and his entire body froze as he stared at what was surely, impossibly, not the ghost of the dead body he found. A (whole) freckled face stared back at him, eyes wide and lips parted. 

"Um," The ghost started, looking down at the hand sticking in his chest. "Sorry, but I don’t think that’s going to do much." The ghost gave a smile. "I bet if I had been human though, you would have killed me for sure." 

For the second time that day, Jean would vehemently deny that he screamed like a girl.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’m going to keep the pace of this story kinda fast, because if i drag a story out too much, i never finish it and i want to finish it for deb. also reference art for jean’s shirt courtesy of yuki119 @ tumblr :3 jean is just too sexy to resist in that shirt (and skinny jeans). also if you squint, you might see some jearmin in this chapter

Jean didn’t believe in ghosts. 

Spirits, monsters, anything like that. All of that shit was made up by Hollywood and religious freaks for money and fear mongering. 

So which is why he absolutely refused to believe that the form sitting across from him in his bed was a ghost. “I’m dreaming.” He nodded to himself, the knife dropping. “Has to be a dream. I’m shaken up by the dead body, so now I’m just imagining it.”  


The ghost frowned lightly. “I’ve been wandering those woods since I died.” He paused. “Until you came along. Jean, right?”

"Not listening. You’re not real." Jean tried to lay down again and squeeze his eyes shut. "Not real at all." A soft exasperated sigh sounded beside him. Jean slowly turned over, eye opening to peek at the not real ghost. The male floated beside his bed, hands tucked into a jacket (why the fuck was a ghost wearing a jacket? Jean thought) and a scarf floating around in his face. 

Jean felt all the color drain from his face for the second (or third) time that night. “Shit, you are real.” As if he hadn’t been sitting there for almost five minutes with the ghost boy, Jean grasped his blanket and flung himself out of the bed and hit the hardwood floor with a ‘thud’. The ghost blinked and floated over the bed and peered down at Jean’s form. Jean had pulled the blanket around his head and started shouting for help. The ghost looked around, not sure why Jean needed help. 

"Jean! What is going on here!?" His mother’s panicked voice caused Jean to peek out from under his blanket. His mother stood there and father behind her, fingers poised on the phone to dial 911. 

"There’s a ghost in my room!" he hissed, looking around. His parents stared at him and then at each other. Finally, his mother bent down as his father gave a sigh and lumbered out. 

"Jean, I know you must be very disturbed by what you saw tonight." His mother started gently, helping him sit up. "But honey, there are no such things as ghosts." Jean ignored her completely, looking around his now empty room. 

"There was a ghost here. He was sitting on my bed and he talked to me!" Jean almost let out a whine. His mother shook her head. 

"Do you want me to tuck you in?" She asked gently. "I can go get your bear down from the attic if it would make you feel better." 

"What would make me feel better is getting the ghost out." He grumbled, cheeks flushing. "Besides, I’m too old for that bear." Not really, but what sixteen year old was going to admit he missed a ratty stuffed animal? He rubbed his face as his mother soothed back some hair. 

"Get some rest. You have school in the morning." He climbed back in bed and she gave him a kiss on the forehead as she tucked him in. "I love you."

"Love you too." he grumbled, feeling embarrassed about saying that to his mom. 

"Want me to leave the hall light on?" she asked as she headed to the door. Jean shook his head, not wanting to be further humiliated. She smiled and closed his door, leaving it faintly cracked. Jean stared up at the dark ceiling for a moment and let out a breath. Maybe he had been traumatized by the sight of a mangled dead body. He shut his eyes, hoping to dream about some hot girl and him making out. 

"She seems nice." 

Oh fuck. 

Jean’s eyes popped open and the ghost sat on his bed, legs crossed and a slight smile on his face. 

"Why are you still here? Get out of my head!" He hissed. The ghost’s smile faulted and somehow Jean was reminded of a kicked puppy. 

"I-I thought that…nevermind." The ghost nibbled on his bottom lip. "It’s just that I’ve been so lonely in the woods. And you seemed like a lonely fellow yourself-"

"I am not lonely. I have tons of friends." Liar liar pants definitely on fire. The ghost quirked a brow that obviously confirmed Jean’s suspicion that the ghost could detect the lie. 

"Anyways, I thought hey, maybe I could hang out with you until, I dunno, I move on." His lips pushed together. "Though, I really can’t figure out why I’m stuck here anyways." 

Jean frowned. “How do you think you’re going to move on if you keep following me around?” The ghost gave a shrug. 

"I thought you might be able to help me. You called the cops to come get my body after all." The male gave a smile and Jean snorted. 

"Remind me next time not to do that for the next dead body I see." He paused. "By the way, what’s your name?" If this ghost was going to be hanging around, then he might as well know his name. 

The ghost opened his mouth then closed it, floundering for a moment. “You mean you don’t know your own name?” Jean asked and looked away and Jean swore that the ghost /blushed/. 

"I don’t remember anything really. I just remember waking up next to my body. Once I got over the initial shock, I figured that there must be something keeping me here. I don’t know what, but why else would I be a spirit instead of going where ever dead people go?" Jean supposed this made sense. About as much sense as this whole ghost business went. Jean flopped back in his bed and looked at his clock. It was nearing midnight and his mom would be dragging his ass out of bed at six a.m. sharp. 

"Can we figure this out tomorrow? I need sleep." 

"Sure." The ghost sat on the side of Jean’s bed, linking his fingers idly. He looked over as Jean rolled onto his side, back facing the ghost. "Goodnight Jean."

"Goodnight..whatever your name is."

The ghost chuckled lightly, figuring that was good enough. Soon Jean’s soft snores filled the room and the ghost took a moment to look at the mop of blond hair. He reached over to touch the locks, wanting to know if it looked as soft as he thought. His fingers misted through and the smile faded into a frown. 

Being with Jean, even for just a few short hours, made him feel more alive than he had in the past week. Ha. Alive. Shaking his head, he took to exploring Jean’s room, trying to be quiet as he did. 

————————-

The ripping of his blanket off of him is the start of his morning routine. Jean rolled over and pulled his pillow over his head, pointedly ignoring his mother’s call for him to get out of bed. He was having the weirdest dream that some ghost was sitting in his room and talking to him all night and - 

"Jean, you should probably get up. You’ll be late." The gentle urging caused Jean to sit up straight. Thankfully the ghost wasn’t solidified because Jean would have knocked their noggins. 

"Shit, that wasn’t a dream."

"You say that word a lot. You should think of enhancing your vocabulary." The ghost gave a crinkly, freckly smile and Jean ground his teeth together. 

"Shut up ghost boy." 

"Can I have a different name? Ghost boy isn’t really that appealing." Jean looked around, trying to figure out what clothes looked clean enough to wear. Oddly enough, his room was spotless. 

"I got bored last night. So I organized your room." The ghost offered helpfully as Jean got up and went to his closet, finding all of his clothes rearranged by color and style. 

"How can you even lift stuff? Things go right through you!" Jean ran his fingers through his hair, suddenly having a dilemma on what to wear. He never worried about what to wear if he could just find something clean on the floor. But now he had to put actual thought into his outfits. 

"Oh! I can lift inanimate objects. It’s a weird ghostly power I guess." To demonstrate, Marco raised his hand and a shirt lifted from Jean’s closet, followed by a pair of pants, the clothes floating to the bed and laying out neatly. "You looked like you were having trouble deciding. So I picked this out for you. Hope you don’t mind." 

Jean stared at the graphic tee that had a pair of wings on the back, feathers in black and white on a grey background. It was paired with some skinny jeans and Jean huffed. “Those damn skinny jeans. I stuffed them in the back for a reason.” He picked them up and changed them out for a pair of faded blues with holes starting in the knees. 

"I thought you might look good in them." The comment had Jean blushing. "I’m going to shower." He muttered, exiting the room to the sound of the ghost’s laughing.

——————-

The ghost, oddly enough, didn’t follow him down to breakfast or on the bus. Maybe he was shy around other people? Or maybe he really was going crazy. He thought about the ghost’s request for a name and he thought over a few. Freckles was a start, but he figured that the ghost would object to that one. As he sat on the bus, deep in thought, a paper ball nailed him in the back of the head. He turned in his seat, glaring daggers at Eren Jaeger, who sat comfortably nestled in between his friends Armin and Mikasa. The blond dork had his head buried in a book, but the narrowed eyes of Eren’s adopted sister spooked him just a little bit. 

"YOU! TURN BACK AROUND IN YOUR SEAT! NOW!" Bus driver Keith Shadis barked out and Jean slid back around, pulling his book bag into his lap to stifle his anger. He unzipped it and let out a curse when a freckled face stared back at him. 

"Hey Jean." The ghost grinned, looking delighted over the fright he had given Jean, who sat there clutching his heart. 

"KIRSCHTEIN!" Shadis yelled.

"Sorry!" Jean half heartedly apologized before looking back down at the ghostly face. "The fuck ghost boy!" 

"I didn’t mean to scare you. At least, not that badly." 

"How did you manage to get in there?" 

"Yo, Jean, why are you talking to your bookbag?" Connie’s voice pestered him and Jean looked up at the bald boy on the row over. 

"Cause he’s a nutcase, that’s why." Eren’s voice called out in the back. Jean zipped up his bookbag to deter any further conversation and staring. He didn’t need more people pestering him than they already did.

——————

"Why do they treat you like that?" 

Jean was just zipping up his pants at the urinal when the voice sounded. At least this time he didn’t jump out of his skin, just flushed a deep red when he saw the ghost floating behind him. “Because they know I’m better than them.” 

"Oh, I thought it was because you acted like a, how would you say, ass?" The ghost’s words had him whipping around. 

"I’m not an ass!" He defended himself. The ghost stared at him earnestly. 

"I watched you all today. You’re cocky and a show off. No one likes that in a person." 

"Geez, I thought you were at least supposed to like me." Jean muttered, hands on his hips. 

"I do. But you know, it can’t be much fun just having a ghost hang around you. Don’t you want other friends?" The ghost floated closer, head tilted. Jean looked away. 

"Not really. I’m okay by myself." The ghost shrugged at Jean’s words. 

"All right then." he paused. "Will you still help me figure out why I’m still here? I guess the sooner we figure it out, the sooner I can go and you can be by yourself again." Why did that sound so shitty when the ghost said that, Jean thought. 

"Yeah sure. I guess we can start at the library." 

—————-

"Can I help you - oh, hello Jean." Armin Arlert, school library aide, was more than surprised to see Jean walking into the school library. He had often pointed and laughed at Armin, calling him a nerd, geek, dork, and everything else under the sun. Armin always brushed the names off, but the words still stung sometimes. Jean looked terribly uncomfortable and he kept looking over his shoulder, muttering something under his breath. 

"Um, Jean?" Armin reached out to touch Jean’s arm and the taller teen jumped. "Can I help you?"

"Uh, yeah. I need a book on ghosts." Jean finally manages. 

"Ghosts? Are you doing some sort of report or just casual reading?" Armin asked, hoping to help Jean narrow down the category. 

"I don’t know. I guess something about the behavior of ghosts or something? Like, I need to find out why there are ghosts."

"Well, different cultures have different reasoning for ghosts, but the main theme is that ghosts are the spirits of dead people who can’t or won’t move on from this world into the next. It is said that a ghost can appear for a variety of reasons - anger, denial, unfinished business. That’s why ghosts often haunt the places they died. They’re stuck in the warp with whatever’s keeping their spirit anchored to the world of the living." Jean blinked as the blond rattled off. Hell, why bother reading a book when he could just talk to Armin. 

"What about when a ghost can’t remember anything after he died?" Jean questioned. Armin raised a brow. 

"I guess maybe the memories aren’t retained in the afterlife? Some scriptures say that when people die, they will leave behind their old life, unable to recognize memories from before." Armin looked down, fingers picking at his shirt. "But, I guess it could work if a ghost was able to reconnect with familiar objects, then they might remember. But that’s just pure speculation on my part." he blushed, embarrassed. 

"Armin, you’re a-"

"Dork? Yeah, I know." The blond’s sigh caused Jean to pause in his words and he looked over at the ghost’s floating form, barely discernible along the wall of books. He thought about the ghost’s other words and he hesitated in his sentence before saying, "Actually, I think you’re pretty smart. I mean, who all would know that off the top of their head?" 

Armin, expecting a barrage of cut downs, looked up at Jean quickly and suspiciously. “Really?” His voice was quiet. 

"Yeah. Who knew you had so much brain in that little noggin of yours." Jean smirked and leaned over to ruffle the blond boy’s hair. The blond burned brightly and smoothed down his locks. 

"You’re acting weird today Jean." Armin mumbled, but couldn’t stop the slight smile. "Is there anything else I can help you with?" He asked. 

"Yeah, I was wondering if you had any local papers. Don’t they do missing persons pages or something?" 

Something clicked in Armin’s head. “Is this about the body you found yesterday?” Jean nodded wordlessly. “I think we have a few papers, but only from the neighboring tri-state area. Here, I’ll help you look through them.” 

So they spent the next hour and a half searching through papers until finally Jean let out an excited shout. “Found him!” Armin rushed over to look and Jean could unconsciously feel the ghost hovering behind. “Missing: Marco Bodt. Age 16. Dark hair. Freckles. Last seen in Sina City on Sunday the 10th, entering the Three Sisters Chapel by Pastor Nick.” Jean read slowly, trying to observe all the details. All he could do was stare at Marco’s colored face, noticing that his freckles dotted each side of his cheeks in a boyish charm. 

"How sad." Armin murmured. "So young. It’s terrible, this world sometimes." Armin’s grave voice cause Jean to step to the side just a little. 

"Uh, right. Can I keep this?" 

"Sure. Just, bring it back when you’re done, okay?" Armin asked politely and Jean nodded. 

"Yeah yeah." he moved to leave. "And Armin, thanks again." Jean gave a slight smile and Armin returned it with a tiny one of his own.

———————-

"I think you may have made a new friend." The ghost, ahem, Marco pointed out offhandedly as they sat on Jean’s bed. Marco looked at the paper with interest, ghostly finger tracing his face. Jean watched him. 

"So your name’s Marco, eh? I pegged you more for a Jack." Marco wrinkled his nose lightly. Jean thought that maybe for a second, he saw those freckles turn brown and a red flush come to the ghost’s cheeks, but all too suddenly, he was that watery white again. 

"Marco sounds better." The ghost closed his eyes thoughtfully. "I remember a little bit. I can remember a woman saying my name, and telling me to be careful." He opened his eyes. "I wonder if that woman is my mom. If I even have a mom." 

"I’m sure you do." Jean crawled under his covers, turning off his light. But Marco continued to stare at the paper in the moonlight, his form shimmering almost. 

"I’m going to bed. You can continue looking at it. We can do some online research tomorrow." Jean yawned, rolling over onto his side again. 

"Goodnight Jean." 

"Goodnight…Marco."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the plot thickens. also, feels all around.

"Oh hey look, you have a Facebook." 

Marco lifted his head from a small (and pathetically empty) photo album sitting on Jean’s nightstand. “Wow, you were pretty popular.” Jean’s voice remarked, a hint of jealous tainting the tone. Marco drifted to look over Jean’s shoulder, staring at a screen full of pictures with him and people he didn’t recognize. “You must have been really big into sports.” There was a picture of Marco in a soccer uniform, basketball, and baseball. “And school organizations. Let’s see: Honor Society, Spanish Honor Society, Mu Alpha Theta, Key Club. Damn, is there anything you weren’t a part of?” Jean looked at him almost crossly and Marco glanced away, shrugging. 

"I don’t know. I mean, it seems familiar." He supposed it made sense. With his friendly, approachable nature he did seem most fitted for social organizations. "Not that it really matters. I’m dead now."

"Yeah, but you were somebody." Jean murmured. Marco frowned. 

"But I died a nobody." Marco reminded him gently and moved to rest a hand on Jean’s shoulder. He expected his fingers to ghost through, so imagine both of their surprise when a warm hand settled on Jean’s cloth covered skin. They both stared at the appendage like Marco had grown extra fingers or something. The feeling lasted for only a moment before the fingers swiped through, leaving Jean with a chill. 

"I-I should get ready for school." Jean stuttered, getting up hurriedly and exiting the room. Marco watched before turning back to the computer. With a ghostly wave, he scrolled through his Facebook, looking at all the messages of his past friends, reading that they missed him and loved him. He switched to look at Jean’s Facebook, hoping to see some sort of activity. All he saw were a couple of pictures and a few statuses full of song lyrics. 

The real crime here wasn’t Marco’s death. 

No, it was Jean’s painfully barren existence. 

—————————————

"Hey Jean." Jean glanced up from poking around his lunch to see Armin standing before him, tray in hand and smile on his face. "Mind if I sit with you today?" He asked cordially. 

"Uh, sure." he glanced around, a little suspicious. "Don’t you want to sit with Eren and Mikasa?" he asked. Armin shook his head. 

"Nah. I sit with them all the time. I figured you could use someone to sit with during lunch with." Jean wouldn’t lie- he was a little pleased over the blond sitting with him. Sure, they had been hanging out after school in the library to research ghosts and stuff, but he figured that Armin would keep it to that. 

"Oy, Armin, why are you sitting with him?" Eren came up a few seconds later, Mikasa in tow. Armin tilted his head up. 

"Jean looked like he could use someone to sit with. Why don’t you join us?" Armin invited and Jean scowled lightly. Jaeger and him weren’t exactly on speaking terms. Eren bristled too until Mikasa tugged at his shirt, whispering something in his ear. 

"Fine." Eren plopped down beside Armin and Mikasa took her usual seat beside him. Silence engulfed them all for a moment before Armin finally spoke up. 

"So, ah, Jean, I found some information on Marco that I thought might interest you." Armin pulled out a newspaper page labeled "Obituaries". Jean took it with a small thank you and glanced over the articles, eyes going straight to Marco’s picture. "It says where he’s buried. I thought you would like to go check out the gravesite, maybe dig around a little."

"I knew you were a weird fuck, but don’t be dragging Armin into this." Eren growled and Jean crumbled the paper in his hands. 

"Shut up Jaeger, this is none of your damn business!"

"To hell it isn’t! Whatever you’re planning to do, you can forget Armin-"

At that moment, a piece of Jean’s mashed potatoes found its way into Eren’s face. Jean stared at the sight of gravy covered Jaeger before bursting out into laughter, remarking at how stupid Eren looked. Eren retaliated a second later with chocolate pudding that went up Jean’s nose. 

A few seconds later, the entire cafeteria was in mass chaos. 

Food was flying everywhere. Jean scrambled behind a table with the trio, their own fighting forgotten as everyone else joined in. Jean peeked his head over the top and was rewarded with a face full of sloppy joe, courtesy of Connie and Sasha from the row over. Eren laughed until ice cream lodged itself in his ear, good aim coming from a smirking Annie. Poor Bertl though was a mess, unable to really crouch behind an overturned table, though Reiner did an excellent job of trying to shield him with a lunch tray. 

The noise in the lunchroom was a dull roar until the doors slammed open, a booming voice yelling, “WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE?!”

All eyes turned and food dropped from frozen fingers as Vice Principal Levi stalked in, trailed closely by Principal Erwin. “Aah- Levi, I was just coming to get you…” Hanji, the resident science teacher, stood up, brushing some scattered rice off a stained blazer. 

"For the love of, don’t tell me you were participating in this!" Hanji turned smeared glasses eyes away, fingers twiddling lightly. "Who started this!?" He demanded, looking completely unamused despite Principal Erwin hid his smile behind a clenched fist in what was supposed to be a thoughtful and intimidating look. 

All the students looked around and Jean quickly turned eyes to Eren, expecting the other to rat him out. And for a second, Eren thought about it. But, he had to give it to Jean. No one had ever been gutsy enough to start a food fight, despite it being on the top ten list of every student’s bucket list. “Oh, so no one’s going to take the blame for this?” Levi snarled, fingers clenching. “Fine. Until someone confesses, you will all be forced to stay here and clean up. And after that, you will all write a ten page essay on why you should not start food fights. After that-” A chorus of groans echoed in the cafeteria and Jean bit his lip. He didn’t want to get in trouble himself, but a small voice inside his head was telling him that this was a golden opportunity to show that he could be a considerate person and that by saving the rest of the students, he’d boost his image considerably. 

Wait. That wasn’t his inner voice saying that.

Jean glanced down at his overturned book bag and saw a pair of honey gold eyes staring at him. Damn it Marco. He should have known. With a deep sigh, he stood up. Levi’s eyes instantly zeroed in on him. “I started the fight.” Jean mumbled. In a second, the short man stood in front of him. 

"I’m sorry, I didn’t hear that." Oh, Levi definitely heard it. He just wanted to hear it again. Jean let out an impatient noise. 

"I said, I started the fight. Punish me. Not them." 

Satisfied, Levi turned his eyes to the rest of the student body. “All of you, get your disgusting selves out of here and back to class. If any of you go hungry, then it’s your own damn fault.” Levi turned his eyes back to him. “You. You’ll be cleaning up this mess by yourself.”

"Uh, sir." Levi and Jean turned to see Eren standing up, looking guilty. "I started it too. I returned fire." 

"Fine. You both can clean up this mess." Levi’s eyes looked down at the covered Mikasa and Armin. "Arlert, Ackerman. Were you two involved as well." Mikasa gave a curt nod and Arlert squeaked as a confession. Levi let out scoff. "You four are on clean up duty for the rest of the week. Give our janitors a break." With that he turned on his heel and walked back to Principal Erwin. "We’ll discuss your punishments afterwards." He called out. Erwin simply gave them a wink and turned to follow his vice principal out, commenting that they were all just kids and that he remembered the chaos Levi had caused when he was their age. A simple "fuck you" was all that Levi responded with.

—————————

"This sucks ass." Jean grunted as he lifted himself up off sore knees. Finally, the place was spotless. After they cleaned it for the third time. Granted, it had been spotless the first time but vice principal Levi disagreed. 

"Yeah. Worth it though." Eren smirked, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Never figured you’d be the one to start a food fight."

"Well, maybe if you actually got to know me then this wouldn’t be much of a surprise." Jean tossed a bucket at Eren, who caught it deftly. 

"Maybe if you didn’t act like such an arrogant son of a bitch then I would hang out with you more!"

And just like that, the two settled into another round of bickering, though this time there were smirks instead of scowls. 

Marco sighed from his spot in the rafters, a slight grin on his own face. A little unconventional, but Jean required the big guns. He remembered a flashback of himself, sitting in a school cafeteria, scrubbing floors with the members of a soccer team as they laughed about the own fight they had caused. For a second, Marco’s form solidified and he inhaled sharply, the cold blast of air in his real lungs a shock to the senses. He faulted on the beam and fell, a yell echoing.

"Hey, did you guys hear that?" Armin asked, looking around. The other three glanced around the large room, the haunting echo chilling all of them.

"Guess it was just the wind…" Jean rubbed the back of his neck, thinking that he had heard Marco. But he saw no sign of the ghost. Shaking his head, he got back to work with the others.

————————-

Marco wasn’t in his room when Jean finally got home that afternoon, after serving detention with the trio of friends. He frowned but thought nothing of it. Maybe he was off doing ghostly things.

Whatever ghostly things were.

He logged on his computer and saw that he had several friend requests on Facebook and a little bit of giddiness filled him.

"Have a good day at school?" Marco’s voice comforted him rather than scared him. Jean looked around to see the ghost sitting on the window seat, burrowed in his jacket, a small smile peeking out from his scarf.

"As if you don’t know." Jean smirked. A minute passed. "Thanks."

"You’re welcome. I knew it was a long shot, but I had just a sliver of hope."

"What gave you the idea anyways?" Jean asked.

"Oh, a memory." Jean shook his head, going through his friend requests.

"Hey, there’s a friend request from you. I didn’t know ghosts had Facebook." Jean teased. Marco drifted over.

"Hush. I had a flashback that contained a memory of me logging in. I’m having a lot of flashbacks lately." Jean accepted the request and immediately moved to snoop around on Marco’s page. "I was wondering…" Marco started.

"Yeah?" Jean found himself smiling fondly at the pictures of Marco, looking so happy and full of life.

"I was wondering if you could take me back to my home. I don’t remember where it’s at exactly, but I figured we could find it. I wanted to see my parents. One last time." The mood instantly sobered. Jean nodded.

"Of course. We’ll go this weekend."

That night, Jean dreamed of his parents and what would happen if he never saw them again. He woke up with a start, sweat pouring down his face.

"Jean, you okay?" It was his mother’s voice that directed his attention. She sat on his bed, looking worried. "You were crying and yelling in your sleep." Without getting an answer, the woman found Jean throwing his arms around her and pushing his head into her neck.

"Mom, I know I don’t tell you and dad this enough. Or that little alien that I call as sister either. But I love you guys. If something happened to you, I don’t know what I’d do. And if you guys died without knowing that I loved you, I’d hate myself forever." Jean tried not to cry, but he did anyways. His mother smiled and held her son tight, stroking his hair soothingly.

"I know you love us Jean, and we love you too. Never forget that." Jean nodded, finally feeling some peace within him. "Would you like for me to sing you to sleep?"

Jean hadn’t been sung to sleep in ages. He nodded, letting her tuck him into the covers as she began to sing softly, her soothing words helping ease him back to sleep.

Marco sat in the closet, leaning his head against the wall, surrounded by Jean’s scent. Jean’s mother had a beautiful voice and he closed his eyes, imagining that it was his mother instead. For the first time in almost two weeks, Marco drifted to sleep, hot tear stains trailing down his cheeks, revealing freckled brown skin in their wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to clear up any confusion, marco did start the food fight as a ploy to win jean some friends :3


	4. Chapter 4

"So...this is my grave?"

Jean stood a little ways away as Marco floated over to the simple tomb marker. "Marco Bodt: Cherished Son." Marco murmured, eyebrows furrowed. "It's funny, you know, that life is reduced to nothing but a dash between numbers." Marco's serious expression caught Jean off guard and Jean looked away. 

"Yeah. I guess." Talk about awkward. He pulled his coat closer, frowning when a few snowflakes drifted down onto the brown patch of grass. He didn't want to disturb Marco's moment but Jean was still very human and affected by the elements. "But you know," Jean started. "It's about what you did between those numbers that counts, right?" Marco paused before turning and giving him a smile.  
"Yeah." The ghost drifted closer to Jean as if to help keep him warm. "C'mon, let's get you somewhere warm." Jean glanced around, his eyes falling on the church about two blocks away. 

"I guess I can thaw out there." He pointed and the two scurried off as the snow started to drift down heavier. By the time Jean reached the doorsteps to the church the snow blanketed the ground and showed no sign of stopping. He entered the quiet chapel, shaking off his jacket and glancing around. Jean let out a low whistle at the expanse of glass mosaics and candles flickering around the entire place. "Fancy." he remarked, looking over to where he thought Marco might be. A frown crossed his face when he didn't see the ghost boy but a voice distracted him soon enough. 

"Can I help you?" Jean jumped and glanced at the front of the church, where a priestly looking man stood in all black. Jean let out a nervous chuckle. Something about those beady eyes gave him the creeps. 

"Uh, I was just um...drying off and warming up." 

The man gave a smile and Jean felt his skin crawling. "Please, come up here by the candles and warm up." Jean wanted to stay right there or better yet, take his chances out in the snow. Nodding he ambled up the aisle. "I'm Pastor Nick, leader of The Three Sisters Chapel. I've never seen you around here before."

"Yeah. I live...not here in town. I was just visiting a friend." Jean kept his eyes averted, biting down on his cheek when Pastor Nick got a little too up close and personal for his liking. 

"Oh? Perhaps I know them?" 

"The Bodts..." Jean let the name slip. He felt the good Pastor stiffen behind him before moving away. 

"Oh, yes. The Bodts. Regulars here. You must be here to pay your respects to Marco." Pastor Nick studied Jean a little more closely now. "Though, you do look familiar...Are you sure I haven't seen you somewhere?"

"Nope. Never been here in my life." Jean nodded. "Listen, I should get going-" A hand grabbed his shoulder and Pastor Nick pulled him around so they stared face to face. 

"I know you from somewhere..." Pastor Nick's eyes seemed to sear into his soul and Jean found himself backing up in an attempt to escape. A vase and cup knocked over and Pastor Nick turned, releasing Jean and allowing him to retreat back towards the entrance. "Come back here!" 

Jean burst out of the church and into the thick snow, chest heaving. He stumbled down the steps and onto the sidewalk, clutching his coat closer as he quickly walked along. He grunted when he hit something solid and only a pair of steady hands kept him from completely falling over. 

"Hey, are you all right?" Jean thought for a second that Pastor Nick had gotten him but a pair of warm brown eyes made him pause. 

"Marco?"

\------------------------

"Thanks again for letting me inside your house." Jean curled up by the warm fire, giving a smile as the woman named Martha handed him a cup of hot chocolate. 

"Anything for a friend of Marco's." The woman smiled and Jean could see the resemblance of Marco on her dark freckled face. 

"Say, how did you two know each other again?" Marcus, Marco's father (whom Jean thought was an exact replica of the dead boy sans freckles), asked. 

"We were online pen pals." Jean supplied easily, the hot chocolate almost burning his tongue. 

"And you're the one that found Marco, right? I remember seeing you on the news station...before we knew it was Marco." Martha sat down by her husband, a picture frame in her hand. Marcus put a comforting hand on his wife's shoulder, rubbing it lightly. 

"Yeah..." Jean looked down at the murky cup. "I didn't realize it at the time. I mean...I hardly recognized him." 

"Us too. When we went to confirm the body-" The woman choked up lightly. She took in a deep breath. "I knew that something was wrong that night. A mother knows when something happens to her baby." Jean settled into silence, not wanting to fuck things up with his stupid words.

\---------------------

Marco lingered in the corner of the room, the space where his heart should be positively aching. He could see the glimmer of tears on his mother's cheeks and the cracking mask on his father's face. What he wouldn't give to hug them both one last time, to give his mother a kiss and tell her "it'll be all right". 

Unable to take the onslaught anymore, he drifted up the stairs, letting instinct lead him. He slid through a closed door easily, feet sinking into plush carpet of a well decorated but obviously unused room. Unfamiliar objects surrounded him - trophies, pictures, stupid little knick knacks. Each had a memory he figured. He glanced over a photo collage, a faint smile coming over at the sight of him standing with unknown faces without a care in the world.

The bed sat neatly made, smelling of fresh detergent. The only thing that looked undisturbed was his pillow. He bent down closer, ghostly fingers running over the indention. Definitely not his head. The green fabric had dark smears at eye level and his heart absolutely shattered at the realization. 

His mother probably spent many nights crying herself to sleep in his bed. Unable to contain it any longer, Marco let out a broken sob, hands flying to his face as he tried to stem the tears. Memories that had only trickled in before now flooded his head. Memories of his friends goofing off like regular kids, memories of nights spent with his parents around a table of home cooked goodness and laughter, memories of dreams and desires, of growing up and making something of himself. 

For once, Marco wished that he had died normally. Because this...this was worse than any death. He'd rather be killed a thousand different ways than spend one more minute mourning what he had lost. 

\-----------------------------

Because the train was mostly empty as Jean rode home that evening, Marco sat beside the teen. Both of them were quiet, heads tilted down. In Jean's lap sat a warm container of brownies ("Marco's favorite- double fudge with almonds.") and the sweet words of Marco's mother in his ears ("Don't be a stranger Jean. Please come back and visit.")

Jean wondered briefly if Marco's parents were hoping to find a replacement son in him. From what they had told him, Marco's friends had slowly disappeared after the funeral and leaving the Bodts with a thin support system. 

"Your folks are nice." Jean casually looked over at the ghost. 

"Yeah. I remember them clearly now. My dad and me practicing baseball in the summer with mom making lemonade."

"Damn. Sounds like the scene from a cheesy movie or something." Marco's lips quirked in a smile and Jean felt his heart lift a little. "It makes sense though. You're so perfect." Jean could see a tint of red coming across Marco's cheeks. "How are you doing that?" Jean asked, leaning closer to where they were nose to nose. 

"Doing what?" Marco responded softly, Jean's close presence making his soul feel light. Well, lighter than it already was.

"You've got color on you." Jean reached up and tried to touch his cheek. Both of them let out a silent breath when Jean's palm cupped warm flesh. 

"I don't know..." Marco's words faded as the two drew closer. Chapped lips met soft ones for a brief moment before they both pulled back. Jean's face was entirely red but he didn't have time to contemplate the fact that he just kissed a ghost. Instead, he stared openly at Marco's solidified form. Marco turned over his hands in amazement, feeling the rush of blood course through him and a heartbeat pounding in his ears. "What the-"

As soon as the moment came it faded and Marco stared at the floor through his hands. 

"What just happened?" Jean asked breathlessly. 

"I'm not sure." In regards to either events really. Jean gulped and turned away, silence overtaking them both again.

\---------------------

"I knew it. He's the one that found the body." Pastor Nick scowled at the papers with Jean's face plastered all over them. "What was he doing here?" he tossed the papers in the trash bin. For a moment, he worried that his secret got out. He stepped into the altar room, making sure to lock the door behind him. With ease he lifted up the top of the wooden altar and removed the false bottom. Preciously packed stacks of top grade powder sat undisturbed and he let out a breath. 

Stupids kids. All he needed was another nosy brat.

Locking everything up, Pastor Nick slipped out of the room and made sure all the deadbolts were locked before he slipped the key back into his robes. 

After all, golden decorations and silver trays didn't come cheap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't judge me on his parents' names  
> Marcus, Martha, and Marco sound really good at 3 am in the morning okay  
> okay  
> also, in reference to the "top grade powder" i am referencing drugs - meth, crack, pick your fancy  
> after all, decorations don't come cheap!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slashes are thoughts/dreams

/Fear burned like hot acid in his throat as he darted through the dark hallway, the sound of yelling spurring him on. He had to get out of here and get help. 

"Someone stop him! He’s seen too much!"

The footsteps were drawing closer and he stumbled over his feet, falling to the floor with a painful thud. He scrambled, digging his nails into the wood in a bid to gain purchase and lift his body up and away. Strong fingers circled his ankles and he let out a scream as he was pulled back into the darkness./

"Marco? MARCO!" 

The yelling caused Marco to wake with a jolt. Jean knelt over his form, tired eyes strained with worry. For a moment Marco thought he was back in his own body and he leaned up, arms reaching up to wrap around Jean. Instead he just floated through, causing Jean to shudder as the cold form drifted through him. 

"S-sorry…" Marco muttered, still visibly shaking as he floated around the room in his attempt to pace. 

"You were yelling, saying ‘Someone help me- for the love of God, someone help me.’" Jean sat on the edge of his bed, brushing fingers through his hair. The screams still echoed in his ears, an almost blood curling sound. "What were you dreaming about?" Jean asked softly after a moment. Marco paused in his floating by the window, the moon shining through him and casting a faint inverted shadow on the floor.

"I-I don’t know. Men chasing me. Someone saying I’ve seen too much." Marco closed his eyes and inhaled lightly. "I remember smelling something burning. Maybe incense? Last thing was someone grabbing my ankles and pulling me."

"Do…do you think it might be something to do with your murder?" 

Marco didn’t answer for a long time. Finally, he nodded. “I think so.” His form flickered for a moment. “But everything is still pretty hazy. I couldn’t see any faces.” /Or remember the killing blow/ he added silently. 

Jean let out a yawn and crawled back into his bed. “Why don’t you come lay down with me for a little bit? Well, I guess you could float on top of the sheets or something. But don’t go back into the closet. It might make you have more nightmares.” He pulled the covers over his body in an attempt to warm up. 

Marco drifted over and crawled on top of the bed, a thin layer of space between him and the actual blanket. Jean’s breathing evened off and Marco turned to watch him sleep. The nightmare slowly faded away as he memorized the little details of Jean’s face. Like how his eyebrows furrowed and his nose wrinkled as he dreamed. A gentle smile crossed his face. 

He didn’t know what he was going to do when he finally moved on and left Jean.

———————————————

Jean really wanted to be anywhere but here. Here being the place where he first discovered Marco’s body. But the ghost insisted so here he stood in the freezing ass forest, wrapped up tight in layers with three hats shoved on top of his head and two scarves wrapped around his neck that threatened to cut off his air. 

"Marco, they cleaned the scene up when they took your body. If there was any evidence, they took it." Jean groused as the ghost floated over the pristine snowy spot. Even though Marco waded around ankle deep, his form hardly disturbed the snow. 

"But what if they missed something. Police miss things all the time. That’s why so many murders go unsolved." 

"Marco have you been watching those late night cop shows?" Jean quirked a brow and the ghost tightened his shoulders slightly before letting out a laugh.

"Yeah." Marco turned towards him. "But that still doesn’t mean we could stumble upon something." 

So they continued to stomp around for several more minutes until Jean said, “No disrespect, but why couldn’t you have died in the spring or something? It’d be a hell of a lot warmer.” 

"Jean," Marco put his hands on his hips. "If I had died in the summer, I would have been a rotted, bloated body full of maggots." At Jean’s gagging, Marco gave a satisfied grin. While Marco went back to looking around, Jean shuffled over to the tree that he found Marco’s body slumped against. He half heartedly dug around with his foot, not intending on finding anything. When he felt the crunch of something solid under his foot he decided to investigate. 

"Hey Marco," Jean’s quiet voice causes the ghost to turn around from floating half way up a tree. "Look." 

Marco’s eyes zero in on the red rosary. It’s broken but only a few beads seem to be missing. 

"Pastor Nick."

The memories come rushing in like a whirlwind and Marco gasped out as pain wracked his body - like lightning shooting through him, searing every nerve as his ethereal body glowed. Jean cried out Marco’s name and attempted to step towards the ghost, but the blinding light made him stagger back and shield his face.

After what seemed like an eternity the light slowly dimmed and Jean lowered his arms, eyes going wide. There was at least a ten foot radius of broken trees and displaced snow that looked like a sonic boom occurred right where Marco was standing. 

Keyword being was. 

Jean scrambled out of the snow pile and into the small clearing, scratching at the dirt. “Marco? MARCO!?”

His cries echoed through the wooded area, disturbing the birds and causing them to scatter in the wind. Jean knelt in the dead grassy center, fingers full of dirt as tears streamed down his face. 

"Marco…"

————————————-

"I’m worried about Jean…"

Jean rolled over and muffled the sound of his mother’s voice outside of the hallway. He half expected (and half hoped) that Marco would be waiting there, staring at him from the closet with that freckly smile. Nope. Only the sight of disorganized clothes falling from hangers. 

Two days had passed since Marco’s disappearance, or more likely, his moving on and Jean felt like he had just lost his best friend from childhood. Marco had become a constant in Jean’s life and not having him around made him feel…empty.

So the only logical response was to mope around the house. 

He pulled a pillow to his chest, closing his eyes and imagining what Marco would say if he saw him sitting here looking like a kicked puppy. He’d probably laugh at him and then tell him to get over himself. They both knew this day was coming so why was it such a big deal? Maybe because Marco had been the closest thing to a best friend Jean ever had. Sure it was a stretch (the two only knew each other for a limited amount of weeks) while best friends were formed over the years. 

But something about Marco filled the void in Jean’s life like only a best friend could. Marco looked without judging him for his crass and abrasive attitude. He laughed at his stupid jokes and conversed seriously with him. 

Marco had also given him hope. Hope that he wouldn’t spend the rest of his miserable existence without any friends. 

Funny now that he had a../what had Marco called it again?/ plethora of friends, the only one he wanted was dead. Dead for real this time. 

Jean blinked his eyes furiously in attempt to stem the tide of tears. Blurry vision landed on the broken rosary and he remembered those last few moments of Marco’s existence, the shock of realization on his face. 

"Pastor Nick…" He muttered, teeth clenching. The damn pastor. 

It might be too late to save Marco, but Jean would be damned if he let that creepy old bastard ever ruin anyone’s life again.

Jean grabbed the necklace and his coat, throwing it on and flying down the stairs, simply yelling to his parents that he would be back later. 

———————————

Pastor Nick almost dropped his candle lighter as the double doors burst open. He whipped around, surprised to see the kid from earlier stalking down the aisle. 

"You killed him!" Jean yelled, fist shaking with a worn rosary hanging from his fingers. Pastor Nick grabbed at his chest, cursing. He thought he had simply lost that damn thing around the church. "You killed Marco Bodt! You killed him and you dumped his body in the woods to be eaten!" The teenager was screaming full force. "I’m going to turn you into the authorities but not before I beat the shit out of you for killing Marco!" 

The pastor instantly realized that the teen was so blinded by his own fury that he was bound to mess up. Pastor Nick backed up, hands reaching behind him to grab an iron rod. “Lower your voice child, this is a place of worship.” He stated calmly. 

"A place of worship?!" Jean let out an almost hysterical laugh. "You’ve murdered someone yet you still consider yourself holy?" The teen launched himself at Pastor Nick. The two went crashing into the display as Jean landed a couple of hits before Pastor Nick threw him off. Jean rolled, trying to gain some ground. Screw the thought of trying to take Nick on for himself, Jean thought. All he wanted to do now was get out and get the authorities. A hand grabbed onto his ankle and pulled him back. Jean looked back with widening eyes as the metal rod raised up, preparing to strike. 

A whoosh caught their attention and both of them watched the velvet drapes go up in flames from the knocked over candles. “You idiot!” Pastor Nick yelled, fist tightening on the rod. He struck at Jean’s kneecaps and Jean let out a blood curling scream as he felt the bones shatter. Jean attempted to drag himself along the floor with his hands and elbows but a shattering beam from the fire dropped in front of him. The heat blasted his face and he shrank back, trapped between two evils. 

Pastor Nick loomed above him, his face overshadowed by the towering flames behind him. He held the iron rod up again, sharp end pointed towards Jean’s chest. 

In that moment, Jean knew he was going to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um yeah i'm super slow at updating  
> i work a lot (12 hour shifts are a bitch) and when i come home, i just want to zone out for a few days  
> so sorry for lagging updates but i can't promise regular updates   
> thanks for reading though :D


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter is short  
> slowly drawing ghost!marco to a close  
> thanks for reading!

"Hey Jean."

Jean glanced up from looking at the rainbow colored wildflowers, a grin splitting across his face when he saw a familiar freckled face. He darted through the field, tackling Marco into the grass. 

"Holy shit man! I thought I'd never see you!" They both laughed as they lay there, arms wrapped around each other tight. For a moment they enjoyed the feeling of being reunited, basking in the warm glow of a clear sky.

When they finally untangled themselves and got up, Marco gently took Jean's hand and they began to walk among the flowers. Jean grew a little uncomfortable at the silence, so he said, "Where exactly are we?" Now that he was over seeing Marco again, he finally realized that the place they were in seemed...otherworldly. The wide array of flowers, the sunless sky despite it being beyond bright. He couldn't remember ever visiting a place like this. 

"This is the Plain of Eternal Existence. Which is sort of ironic, considering people don't stay here for very long." When Jean gave him a confused look, Marco continued, "It's sort of like limbo. Souls hang around here until the portals going to their final destination open up." 

"So does this mean..." Jean gulped. "I'm dead?"

"Not necessarily." Marco gave him another crinkly smile. "You never really know until you go through that portal. You could go onto the afterlife or back to the world of the living."

"How long have you been here?" Jean had assumed that since Marco's spirit faded in the woods, Marco left for the afterlife. For good this time. At the question, Marco's smile softened. 

"For only a little bit actually. When I came here, two portals opened up. Strange really. I almost stepped through the first one but something pulled me towards that second light. I didn't know where it led, but I knew that I should go there instead. I'm glad I did."

"Where did it go?" Jean asked. Marco didn't answer. He had stopped to look down at their tangled hands. 

"It's time for us both to go." he murmured suddenly. Two beams of light nearly blinded Jean and it took him a second to force his head up and towards the glare. Two perfectly oval circles floated in front of them and suddenly Jean felt his heart racing. 

"I don't want to die." Jean tightened his hand on Marco's. He could hear the blood pulsing through his ears at the fear of the unknown. Marco pulled him into a gentle hug. 

"It'll be all right." Marco assured him. "We'll go together, okay?" 

Jean nodded numbly, gulping as he forced himself towards the light. Right before they stepped through, he glanced at Marco who simply smiled at him. Jean managed a smile himself and took a breath, the world fading as they disappeared with a breeze at their back.

\---------------------------------

The sounds were unnerving and he felt like he was choking. He gagged and bit down on something hard in his mouth. He could hardly see through his eyes which felt caked in gunk. He coughed, struggling to inhale.

"Jean, Jean, don't fight it." 

A familiar, reassuring voice. A warm hand on his head. "Just relax. Don't chew." Jean didn't realize he was chewing, only trying to get rid of the foreign object in his mouth. Warmth flooded his system and he felt his muscles go slack.

"You're gonna get better Jean. Promise."

\----------------------

When Jean finally woke back up it was in an airy hospital room, get well cards and balloons littering every surface. Everything seemed foggy in his head, but that could be the result of the pain pump beeping next to him. 

"Hey Jean."

Jean's heart jumped and his head tilted to the side. His eyebrows furrowed when he saw a blonde head sitting there. "You look disappointed." Armin chuckled, closing the book in his lap. 

"Just thought you were someone else." Jean's scratchy voice responded. "How long have I been out of it?"

"About a week."

"What happened?"

"Someone saw the church on fire. You remember being at the church, right?" Jean gave a stiff nod. He could remember Pastor Nick standing over him, ready to kill him. Then a bright light. After that, everything seemed fuzzy. "Anyways, when the fire department showed up, they found you pulled out of the building but you were hardly breathing. You inhaled so much smoke. And your legs were broken." Armin tilted his head towards the window. "No one's really sure how you managed to get out. Someone had to pull you." Armin fell silent for a moment. "You almost died when you got to the hospital. They said they had to shock your heart a couple of times but they got you back." Armin smiled at him.

"You must have an angel watching over you Jean."

"Yeah." Jean gave a faint smile as he looked at the vase full of wildflowers, eyes drifting close. As he fell asleep, he could have sworn he heard Marco's gentle laughter in his ears and the silky soft whisper of feathers against his face. 

In that moment, Jean knew that all would be right in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thing jean is chewing on - intubation tube   
> whoever is speaking to jean is up to your imagination :)


	7. Epilogue

"And so the boy was trapped by the flames and it seemed that all was lost…"

"What happens next daddy?"

Jean smiled down at his son, smoothing back unruly blonde curls, his heart lurching when that freckly face scrunched up. “You know what happens next. I’ve told you this story a thousand times.” He teased. His son pouted, bottom lip jutting out. 

"Daddy….."

"Fine fine." Jean settled back into the bed with his son in his lap, flipping the page of the book. "Suddenly, a miracle happened. The boy’s ghost friend appeared in a bright beam of light and pulled the boy to safety, making sure not a flame touched his head." He pointed to the picture of the ghost, tiny fingers outlining the shape of feathery white wings. "The boy was saved from certain death, all thanks to his special friend." Jean slowly closed the book, kissing his son on the head. "And they lived happily ever after."

"Don’t you think it’d be cool to have a ghost friend?" His son asked, peering up at him with wide brown eyes. "Think of all the tricks we could play! It would be so much fun!" Sensing his son was trying to wind himself up an fight the sleep, Jean dimmed the lights a little more and started to tuck his boy in. 

"Yeah. But real life friends are fun too. Which is why I want you to make lots of them when you start kindergarten tomorrow." Jean pulled the covers up to the boy’s chin. His son gave a slight shift, frowning. 

"But what if they’re scary?"

"Remember in the story, how the boy thought the ghost was scary at first?" 

"Yeah…"

"Just think of it like that." Jean soothed a few fingers over the troubled brow. "Just because someone looks scary doesn’t mean they are." The little boy nodded. As Jean was about to get up and leave, his son reached out and grabbed his sleeve. 

"Can you read me the story one last time?" He begged. Jean gave a mock sigh. 

"Fine. But one last time and then it’s off to sleep." Jean told him sternly, playfully wagging a finger in his face. Jean sat back down on the bed, enjoying the feeling of his son cuddling up close as he opened up the picture book again. 

"Once upon a time there was a very lonely boy. One day, as he was walking through the woods, the lonely boy ran into a lonely little ghost. At first the boy was startled, having never seen a ghost before. But the ghost only smiled and held out his hand. With a sweet voice, the ghost said, ‘Hi. My name is Marcus. What’s yours?’"

Gentle snoring filled the room moments later and Jean stole a glance down to see that his son had finally drifted off. Easing out of the bed and with one last kiss goodnight, he put the book on the nightstand and flipped off the light. The room was encased in the soft glow of a starry nightlight, allowing Jean to pause one last time to look at his son from the doorway. 

"Goodnight…Marco…"

As Jean left the room, the starry nightlight glowed bright before fading. The shimmering form of a teenage boy stood there, a crinkly smile on his face. 

"Goodnight Jean…" He murmured with a happy sigh, fading back into the darkness once and for all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading guys! i hoped you enjoyed it!  
> also go check out deb at lemonorangelime @ tumblr for awesome jeanmarco art!  
> /and the child is not a jearmin lovechild sorry ahaha


	8. Jean's Rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> since deb and many readers wanted to know what happened to pastor nick and what all went down at the church, i finally managed to write a little something something. the reasoning behind not posting it originally is because i wanted to leave some mystery and it felt right for the flow (for me). however, i do hope you guys enjoy this chapter and the (final!) closing of ghost!marco :3

At first Marco wasn’t sure how to feel as he stood by himself in the field of flowers, staring at the glowing portal before him. He knew that his time had come and that once he stepped through that light, there was no going back. 

No more Jean. 

He thought about Jean for a moment, stalling the inevitable. What was Jean doing right now? Happy that Marco moved on or crushed by his disappearance? He imagined Jean running around the woods, freezing, looking for him desperately. He smiled at the thought, lower lip trembling in the effort not to cry. It was like seeing his parents all over again with the flood of emotion running through him. 

His time was quickly running out and he took in a deep breath, steeling himself as he took one step forward. Then another. Right before he reached the edge of the light, a second portal appeared. His heart jumped and he changed direction almost immediately. Something about this light called strongly to him. 

If he didn’t go into that light, something terrible would happen. 

—————————————

Even in his spiritual form, the smoke around him almost choked him. The heat seared all the way through and he was sure if he wasn’t already dead, he’d be burned to a crisp in this roaring fire. He looked around, confused. Why in a burning building?

A yell snapped him out of his thoughts and he raced towards the sound, his heart pounding in his ears. In the only clearing of the fire, he saw the form of Pastor Nick, arms raised high above his head and metal rod aiming down. His eyes flickered to Jean, broken and bloody on the floor, unable to do anything but try to shield himself from the impending blow. 

Marco felt a surge of adrenaline and he lurched forward, a heavy foot falling on the ground as the glow died around his rapidly solidifying body. 

"Jean!" 

Two heads snapped towards him and Pastor Nick’s skin turned a shade of sickly yellow. The bar dropped from his hands, landing on top of Jean but not gravely injuring him. Marco advanced on Pastor Nick, pushing him further towards the growing flames. “Leave. Him. Alone!” 

"Y-you’re supposed to be dead!" Pastor Nick cried out, clutching his rosary as if that would ward away the dead boy. Marco’s eyes blazed with fury. 

"As are you." Marco felt all the anger inside of him waiting to be unleashed as he confronted his murderer. "I refuse to let you take another soul." 

Pastor Nick threw a fallen candle at Marco and both of them expected the object to make contact. Instead it sailed through his form and rolled under a pew. “You can’t hurt me.” Marco murmured softly, fingertips reach out to the side to touch a flickering flame. It made his fingers shimmer but left him unburned. 

"P-please!" The pastor fell to his knees, hands clasped. "Spare me!" 

A great groaning and creaking distracted Marco and he stared up as a wooden figure of Sister Maria cracked and swayed, the fire eating away at the base and making it unstable. In slow motion the object began to fall and Marco watched as the great thing came tumbling down on top of Pastor Nick, trapping him underneath. The smell of burning flesh stung his nose as the shrieks of the pastor filled the chapel. Marco hovered over the burning form.

"I cannot give what you do not deserve." He muttered, feeling odd for not having any pity for the dying man. His soul felt light and his form started to melt away into nothingness. A groan got his attention and he was horrified to realize he had forgotten about Jean. He turned around, watching as the male tried to roll away from the creeping flames. He grit his teeth and reformed, hurrying over to Jean. His skin was unbearably hot and Jean looked like he was holding onto the threads of consciousness. 

"You’re…alive…" Jean whispered, a goofy grin coming to his face before his eyes closed and his jaw went slack. Marco, with all his strength, gripped Jean up under the arms and started to drag him towards the side exit. His chest burned and his eyes watered from exertion, but he had to save Jean. 

It may have been his time to go, but Jean had a long life ahead of him. 

For some reason, the flames kept their distance, only closing in behind him after every step. The doors were so close, Marco thought, glancing down at Jean’s ashen face. 

"Don’t you die on me." He whispered. 

The fresh air took away his breath and he stumbled as he kicked the doors open, turning back around to grab Jean and pull him out just as the flames started to touch the boy’s feet. He quickly rolled him into the grass, wincing at the sound of bones cracking. He could hear sirens in the distance. He could also hear the sound of people congregating near the entrance and he was thankful of the semi privacy. 

His thankfulness faded when he saw that Jean’s chest wasn’t moving. He shook his head, grabbing Jean’s face. “Please don’t die.” Memories of his lifeguard training hit him and he leaned down, putting his lips over Jean’s and pinching his nose, tilting his head up in an attempt to open his airway as he breathed into his friend. He could see the chest rise with each breath. He felt for a heartbeat and was almost in tears at the faint thready pulse. But Jean still wasn’t breathing and Marco knew that his time was running out. 

Just as he was giving his fourth breath, he could hear people yelling in their direction. He jerked up, seeing people running towards them, a couple of paramedics with a stretcher and life saving equipment. He scrambled up and over Jean’s body, running towards the treeline, ignoring the shouts. 

No use in trying to save a dead boy like him. 

No one came after him and he was thankful for that. He collapsed against a tree, eyes heavy. All he wanted to do was sleep.

As he sat there, his body numbed out and his color faded until he was nothing but a shimmering form. The exhaustion left him and he managed to get to the edge of the trees just to see the ambulance pulling away.

He could feel something tugging on his form, urging him back to where he once was. With a sigh and quick prayer, he hoped that Jean would survive.


End file.
